


I'm Real and I Don't Feel Like Boys

by chewysugar



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Outdoor Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 06:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: A picnic near Sweetwater River stirs up feelings within Betty and Veronica that may have always been there.





	I'm Real and I Don't Feel Like Boys

Swollen like an expectant mother from the fertilizing rains of spring, Sweetwater River had seen far too much death in its centuries winding through the wilds of the country to maintain a perfectly picturesque quality. The flowers that grew in thickly knit clusters on its sloping banks were not of innocent pinks and sunny yellows. Instead, violets and petunias as dark as a dusky sky nodded their grand petals towards the almighty tide; queenly dahlias towered from the ground, the whites of their petals stained with bloody red wounds. Even the trees, as workaday and commonplace as any found in abundance in a the cordillera of the country were dark; pines and ash and poplars grew dense an broad, as if conspiring against every living creature with the poor sense of wandering among them.

The river and the woods and the flowers had witnessed death many a time; true. Yet they'd also seen scandalous love affairs and heard the whispered dreams of those who had their hearts set on escaping from that sequestered part of the country.

Altogether there was something quite off-putting about the unforgiving waves and the conspiratorial flora. Residents of Riverdale tread carefully when on an afternoon hike or fishing trip, mindful both of the still, watchfulness of the woods and the mighty power of the treacherous river that was one part their town's namesake.

Veronica Lodge counted herself among the select few Riverdalians who thought the superstition surrounding Sweetwater River was a load of nonsense. She had grown up in the concrete forests of New York City, where real fear and danger came not in the shape of an angry body of water or mournfully sighing evergreens, but nuggets, rapists and psychotics on the streets, to say nothing of the cannibals of the corporate world and the succubi in high society.

So it was that one a day late in spring when the weather had turned for the unseasonably better that she convinced her best friend Betty Cooper to take their study session away from their usual haunt at Pop Tate's Malt Shop, and adjourn instead to the banks of that crafty river.

It came as something of a surprise to Betty.

"That place doesn't have a Friday the 13th feel to you or anything? Between Jason and Cheryl I'm surprised there aren't more crazy stories about it spreading around online."

But Veronica only laughed, a sound and sight that never failed to put Betty in mind of a Golden Age Hollywood starlet; it was entirely carefree, the kind she imagined Ava Gardner would have given.

"Not in the least, Bee. Everyone here thinks it's the greatest thing since the fidget spinner in a sick way. Besides, if Jason Voorhees does happen upon our little study buddy session, he'll be getting a Louboutin up his undead backside."

Veronica excelled at many things, and one of the chiefest among them was convincing those who preferred to err on the side of caution to throw it to the strongest wind. Betty, while not at all a shy, secure little dove the way most archetypal girls next door were, was easily swayed.

"Won't that be putting yourself in danger though?" Betty teased. "You know the only people who survive those crapfests are ladies with their virtue in tact."

Veronica swatted a mosquito from her arm. "That is what I think of virtue," she said sagely. They were halfway down the road from Riverdale High School making towards The Cooper household. The day was thick with the threat of condensation, but the pleasant warmth kept any threat of rain at bay as if the very idea of precipitation before it was due were the most ludicrous and improper thing imaginable.

"Please, Bee." Veronica looked at Betty from under lashes as long and natural as a tickling stem of salvia; Her brown eyes were filled with an almost girlish pleading. "No offense to Pop's culinary prowess, but if I get another grease stain on my notebook I'm going to pull a full on Amanda Bynes meltdown."

"Well now, we can't have that, can we? Imagine people talking about any of us."

Veronica flung her arm around Betty's slender waist, laughing as if the very reason for Riverdale's gossip extending her way and Betty's was nothing at all to do with murder and deception. "Let them talk then. I hear them talking. Talking about us. Then let's give them something to talk about." Veronica's voice rose, her crisp soprano voice ringing down the street so clearly, loudly and distinctly that it causes several passersby and animals to pause and stare. "How about love, lo-ove, lo-o-ove!"

If Veronica excelled at enticing the hesitant to step beyond their boundaries, she flourished at getting others to laugh along with her. The sound was positively infectious, and even after almost a year in the thrall of her friendship, Betty was not so immune to the spell of Veronica's laugh as all that.

"Alright!" Betty said, nearly tripping over her own shoes; Veronica still had an arm around her best friend's waist and, in the throes of her mirth, had nearly pulled them both earthwards. "Alright we'll go as long as the weather holds."

"Oh, it will," said Veronica, the very idea of something as ordinary as the weather not behaving in accordance with her plans for a picnic nothing short of absurd. "I'll pack us a pick-a-nick basket and you just bring your beautiful little self."

As it transpired, Veronica's idea of packing a picnic basket was entirely at odds with anything Betty had ever known of the subject. In days that retrospectively seemed far off, Betty had known picnics with both family and school friends to consist of sandwiches packed in Ziploc bags, her mother's famously tangy potato salad, a thermos filled with various flavors of Kool Aid and at least one bag of potato chips dripping in saturated fats. All these had been stuffed into wicker cages so haphazardly that the sandwiches, more often than not, were removed flattened and squished into ham filled wafers.

Veronica had never had a picnic proper; in her experience of things, dining alfresco was done in the shady canopies of a Fifth Avenue cafe. Bursting with enthusiasm at the notion of sharing a real rustic picnic with the woman of her heart promoted the young heiress to go all out. She purchased a high end picnic carrier--for something so extravagant could not have been deemed a basket in the least. It was of powder blue treated wood, contained silver cutlery and four sets of small mugs just perfect for coffee or Kool Aid, and came complete with plates and a set of weighted baubles to keep the checkered yellow and blue picnic blanket that matched it from blowing away in the wind. This extravagance was nothing compared to Veronica's idea of the kinds of food appropriate for a perfectly rustic picnic experience.

Homemade lemonade filled a stylish thermos; designer Tupperware filled with zesty hummus, crisp garden salad and rolls of sushi were tucked expertly into the carrier by Veronica's eager hands. Baked triangles of pita bread, perfect for dipping into the hummus, were sealed not in Ziploc but wrapped in cheesecloth. For dessert, Veronica had elected to rack up further debt on her mother's credit cards and pack a freezable container with strawberries dipped in the finest white and dark milk chocolate. Satisfied with what she sincerely considered a meager set of trappings, Veronica determined that all there was to wait for was to see if the weather behaved itself.

Fearful of the wrath of an heiress spoiled to perfect sweetness, the very forces of Nature conspired to be on their best. The day of the picnic dawned with a sky clear blue and promising. Only the softest breeze ruffled the new leaves in and around Riverdale, warm and refreshing as it carried with it the cooling air of the river that bordered the town.

Veronica arrived at the Cooper household at a quarter to noon, dressed for the weather in a white sundress dappled with pale grey flowers which not only accentuated her tan skin, but also complimented her raw femininity.

Despairing the pointless ire of her mother, Betty met her friend after a single ring of the doorbell. Betty had elected to dress cautiously in jeans and a button up plaid shirt. What with these plain clothes and the easy bun she'd tied her hair in, she looked a perfect facsimile of a boy that it made Veronica grin.

"Shall we?"

Betty quietly closed the door behind her, shutting out the mendacity of a home life that she despaired to think of, and offered Veronica her arm.

"That's quite the picnic basket," Betty said as they walked off together.

"Can I help but be excited? I'm popping my picnic cherry, Bee. I wanted it to be special."

"You deserve it to be special," Betty said quietly, but not so quiet that the words did not elicit a genuinely touched smile from the raven haired beauty whose arm she held securely with her own.

Through the town the two young women strolled quite at their leisure. At a point, both were hailed by two familiar faces also going for a stroll in the clement weather. Veronica merely intoned that a moment's delay to their cause--even if it was for the two handsome young men whom they deigned to refer to as boyfriends--would cost the red headed boy and his beanie wearing friend their lives.

"And around these parts," Betty said, snickering silently at the look of disappointed shock in the faces of Archie Andrews and Jughead Jones, "that isn't a threat to be taken lightly. Although I guess it really was a little over the top."

"Go big or go home," Veronica said. "Besides I only packed enough for an intimate luncheon for two. Jughead would plow through everything in five minutes, no offence meant. And we've got studying to do. Those poor boys would be a distraction."

Betty would quite like to have said that the time was long gone for worrying about being driven to distraction in Veronica's company, but she was so looking forward to a lazy afternoon with the girl of her heart that she wouldn't spoil it with blithe sarcasm.

Presently the two intrepid hikers found their way to the shady hiding paths of the woods outside Riverdale. The breeze turned to a stiff, warm wind for the briefest of moments, and the great branches of the ancient, ever watchful trees swayed as if gossiping among each other at the scandalous and unscheduled appearance of these two ignorant adolescents.

Veronica effortlessly spread the checkered blanket on a flat surface of sand near the great river's raging current. "Some people would throw a complete fit if they saw an original Belmont being used like this," she said. "Although most people who can afford Belmont blankets never ever use them."

"Why would they buy a picnic blanket with no intention of going on a picnic?"

"For the same reason they have houses in Spain that they never visit." Veronica flounced--in the most elegant and ladylike way a person could flounce--onto the checkered blanket. "Us wealthy types need something to fill the void with."

She spoke with all the disaffection avowed to youth, but Betty saw the steel knife of secret pain in Veronica's big brown eyes. Betty Cooper found many things intolerable, chiefest among them being any man, woman, or non-binary person being in a state of emotional distress. As far as she was concerned, the only person in the world who deserved to deal with the burrowing pain of mental and emotional chaos was Betty Cooper herself.

Seeing the shadow in Veronica's eyes roused the sleeping champion in Betty's soul. She sank to the blanket, watching Veronica extract her trifle of a picnic from the designer basket.

"I don't think you're anything like those people, Ronnie," she said gently.

"You haven't met many rich people, Bee."

"But I do know Cheryl Blossom and Josie McCoy. Reggie Mantle too. They're not exactly living in a lower tax bracket and they're all pretty rotten."

"Most people are when we scratch the surface," Veronica said. Then, not at all liking the maudlin turn that the picnic has taken, she added, "Let's just forget about it for now, huh Bee? I don't have the strength to be introspective on such a beautiful day."

Betty was inclined to agree, and not just because she'd made it her life's mission to keep Veronica Lodge happy. It really was a day right out of a storybook, and the tufts of bloody wild orchids and angelic white snap dragons growing along the riverbank were too beautiful for her to let herself become fixated on the lifelong melancholia that had plagued her from birth.

Upon seeing the California cuisine which constituted Veronica's picnic, Betty arched a fair eyebrow.

"You really went all out for this didn't you?"

"Not this," Veronica said demurely as she poured them both mugs of fruit punch. "Only you, Bee."

Betty felt a stirring in her heart that she's long since stopped trying to bury. Determined not to throw anymore of a pall over the picnic as she already had, Betty instead elected for a joke.

"What, does your darling Archiekins not qualify for a first class picnic by the river? You're going to have to be careful with him. He does get a little dramatic when it comes to being forgotten about."

Sipping her fruit punch in quiet dignity, Veronica said, "Archie and I dedicate most of our energy to other pursuits. Things that aren't ladylike to talk about over sushi and fruit punch."

"And just how much of a prude do you take me for, Veronica Lodge?" Betty laughed. Veronica was prevented from answering when Betty took note of the droplet of ruby red punch at the corner of her dear friend's plump lips. Reaching for one of the embroider napkins, Betty leaned forward, forgetting any and all compunction involved in the action of it, gently wiped the offending leftover fruit punch from Veronica's lips.

"My heroine," Veronica sighed, not altogether theatrically.

"Ever and always," Betty replied.

As much as Veronica wanted to sit and extol the many and sundry heroic virtues of one Betty Cooper--which, in all good consciousness, there were plenty--the food wasn't going to eat itself. Soon the fine plates that Veronica had brought along for the occasion were plied with all the delicacies she had so lovingly packed. The two girls ate ravenously, drinking the sweet, refreshing fruit punch and filling the sweet spring air with the melodic strains of their lively and utterly meaningless conversations.

Betty had never known such tranquility in all her life, not even before Veronica and others had come to Riverdale and, in her mother's lacking imagination at least, changed the quiet nature of the town. All around her was the beauty of nature and the fruits of that little corner of the world. Betty had so long thought of Riverdale as a place infuriatingly counterfeit, where everything pleasant was merely a charade for selfish acts of cruelty. But with the sun shining like heart of a golden marigold in the periwinkle sky, the steadfast rush of Sweetwater River mere feet away, and the sounds of birds chirping in the trees, Betty Cooper could almost believe that there was still hope for Riverdale.

But all these visual stimuli of nature were as nothing compared to the flesh and blood sitting on the picnic blanket with her, her pretty pale summer dress spread out like the languor of some fairy tale maiden, her eyes bright and effusive and her laughter a perfect symphony to Betty's oft world weary ears. Betty thought at that moment that she would give all the chances to see justice and truth delivered to the world if it meant that Veronica would only smile like the sun every day she had to live.

After gulping down the remainder of the fruit punch and smacking her lips, Veronica sighed in utter contentment. "I guess this isn't much for getting any studying done." Betty and Veronica had both dutifully carried their assigned schoolwork to the river bank, but the day being so fair and the bond between them being unbreakable to the point where such things as schoolwork were of the least importance, both girls had forgotten about their bags and books.

"It's not as if we can't find material for it," Betty said with a roll of her crystal blue eyes. "Everyone's either read Anne of Green Gables or seen the damn miniseries. Besides, what's the point of reading something so outdated and sugary?"

"I don't know," Veronica said with a luxuriant sigh. "I think the world could use more saccharine things right now. This part of it especially. Everything seems so much better off in those old books. There's no war, no serial killers with their pictures on the news. No Machiavellian matriarchs murdering their own sons."

"No rights for women, ethnic people, LGBTQ people...that accounts for almost seventy five per cent of our social circle."

Veronica emitted another one of those laughs that had the power to render Betty completely helpless. She gave the other girl a friendly swat on her exposed ankle. "If you're going to get all Sylvia Plath about it then maybe you should have asked to read The Bell Jar instead."

"Sorry," Betty said. "I didn't meant to be a big Buzz Killington. I really do love Anne of Green Gables. I used to hurt so much for a kindred spirit and now, well..." But Betty, not being fully possessed of a knack for expressing her true feelings after too many past failures at attempting just such the thing, clammed up and became thoroughly engrossed in a large fern growing near the picnic blanket.

Veronica smiled warmly. She'd been surrounded by a sea of false friends growing up in New York City. Under the circumstances of her and her mother's exodus from the Big Apple, she'd believed assuredly that she'd never find even one if those fair weather friends in Riverdale's tightly knit circles, no matter how much she'd determined to. Now here she was, months on, with a small group of close comrades, a beautiful, soulful boy at her side, and this fair but heartily damaged vision known as Betty Cooper.

"Hey." Veronica slid a hand along the smooth skin of that tempting ankle. "I consider you a kindred spirit better than any, Bee. After everything that's happened you have no idea how much it means to me to have you here eating California rolls and Shari's Berry's with me."

Betty chuckled, a becoming rosy flush rising in her cheeks. She plucked a frond from the verdant fern and idly rolled it between her fingers. "That's...thanks, Ronnie. It means a lot."

Blue eyes beneath fair lashes met soulful browns. The air between the two girls suddenly grew heavy with that magical, frightening, je ne sais quoi that makes a fool out of even the most steadfast person. Betty's heart beat against her breast in delighted anticipation of what, if anything, could happen. Still too shy to make any sort of bold initiating move, she traced the feathery fingers of her plucked fern leaf up and down the skin of Veronica's tan leg.

For once in her life, Veronica Lodge found herself lacking the capabilities of coherent speech. The delicate trail on her skin left by Betty's spear of spring grass all but robbed her of a usual tack and sharpness that had become legend even in the claustrophobic spaces of New York.

She let herself be in the serene moment, savouring the silence like it was the effects of a potent drink. Betty boldly stretched the limits of her caution and trailed the fern higher up Veronica's leg until it skirted the hem of her dress.

"Well now," Veronica said with the tiniest whisper of a sigh, mustering up vocal powers once more, "let's just keep this a little secret between the two of us, hm? Archie and Juggie would either get jealous or want us to make a video."

"My lips are sealed," Betty said, although at the moment she wished them to be anything of the kind.

Veronica opened her eyes, staring at Betty's lips with an interest that would have astonished and frightened most other girls in Riverdale. Once again Betty caught her eye and the fern leaf fell from her trembling fingers. All pretense of bashfulness and hesitation up and fled from Betty's very spirit; she crawled the length of Veronica's body, pressing her to the blanket with a gentle hand on her smooth shoulder.

Veronica smiled in a way that belied victory, and looking back later on the affair, Betty surmised that the girl with the luxurious raven tresses and expressive brown eyes had likely been hoping for events to transpire in such a fashion as Betty herself had. Not that either would complain if asked on the matter.

It wasn't the first time that Betty's lips and met Veronica's, but it was the first time that a kiss between the two hadn't been shared as a point proven to fickle minded shrews like Cheryl Blossom. Beneath the inexperienced touch of Betty's lips, Veronica's parted like a flower. Breath sweet from fruit punch fled from both girls as the embrace deepened; Veronica trailed her arms up Betty's sides, one exploring hand curling into her honey hair, the other clutching the back of Betty's shirt like a life raft. Emboldened but touch, taste, smell and sound, Betty snaked her fingers along Veronica's leg. Veronica's eyes fluttered open and for a brief moment both broke apart in unsure consternation.

Betty stared into the infinity of Veronica's eyes, feeling wonton and filled with the same reckless abandon that had led her to solving a murder mystery the previous winter. Of all the great tribulations in her young life, this presented itself as a positive Hydra. But she wanted it, and being Veronica's kindred spirit had taught her to be guiltless when it came to going after those things she dearly wanted.

She sat up, pulled her light jacket and shirt over her head and grinned at Veronica, who, for her part, was thrilled that the strong, mesmerizing vision above her wasn't shrinking away from whatever was about to happen between them. When Betty dove down to capture Veronica's lips with another scorching kiss, Veronica received it as if she'd been starved for touch and taste her whole life. 

The spring breeze loitering over the little bank picked up, sailing away as if in furious embarrassment at being privy to the passionate affections of the two teenage girls. It gripped the leaves of the willow and the beech trees, turning them upwards like a chiding mother shielding the virgin eyes of a naughty child. Only the stead current of Sweetwater River, true and chaotic as ever, bore any natural witness to the tender kisses and grasping caresses of those two love crazy girls. But rivers are passionate things in themselves, and an oceanographer would have been stunned speechless to see the readings from Sweetwater River the day. As if pausing in its natural course, the flow of the tide steadied for just a moment, watching slyly as Veronica and Betty surrendered to a pull that was very much like the treacherous tide itself.

Skin against skin, lips devouring each other, Veronica and Betty explored both body and spirit on the bank of the river. Betty, possessed of a need to protect the beautiful, breakable girl beneath her, commandeered the search of tanned flesh, her lips leaving trails of heat and invisible imprints over every bit she could reach. Veronica gasped, holding Betty to her, not caring a cent for the fact that Archie Andrews would probably consider this infidelity, although in sober truth, he was more likely to use it as fuel for his every masturbatory fantasy between now and Thanksgiving Day.

Veronica's skilled and steady hands guided Betty's untested and eager ones to the most intimate places in her body. The plunge to this erotic height stole Betty's breath so that she was amazed she wasn't rendered unconscious from the beautiful perfection of it. And when Veronica repaid the deft exploration of Betty's fingers in kind, Betty found herself elevated to a plain above any other sensation she'd ever felt before.The hum in her nerves mounted to a full crescendo as Veronica teased and caressed her delicate flesh as if it were the most precious treasure in the world. Needing Veronica more than oxygen at that moment, Betty crushed her lips to those of the exquisite, writhing creature below her. 

The crescendo reached its zenith and Betty moaned into Veronica's mouth, her whole body and being exploding into a fevered pitch of uncontrollable ecstasy. Despite a boy whose heart she held like a map to the Ark of the Covenant, Betty had never crossed this line with Jughead, though she'd often wished it and tried to initiate it. But it wasn't Jughead who coaxed her body to such supernova heights; it was Veronica Lodge, who, under the clumsy but caring hands of Betty Cooper, felt her own secret self shatter like crystal.

The reverent breeze turned downwards once more; content with what had transpired, Sweetwater River resumed its natural flow. In spite of the gravity of the beautiful event that had taken place in the small, sequestered riverbank, the sun would set and rise in usual rhythm; the weary world would continue in its orbit and time would forever march on.

Betty collapsed on the blanket beside Veronica, her breath quite failing her after such an intimate tableaux. Her overwhelmed mind raced like a stampede of wild Arabian horses, terrified at what she'd done but knowing inwardly that it had been the most spectacular thing she'd ever shared with another human being. The impulse to run filled her to the brim, but before she could as much let the thought blossom fully, Veronica slipped her hand into Betty's, and every wild impulse failed the fair haired girl.

Veronica smiled softly at her, saying without words that this was theirs--their own treasured secret here in the beautiful palace of Nature. Her fingers twined with Betty's, and she smiled languidly at the placid clear blue sky overhead.

"Some picnic, huh?" She said in a feather-soft whisper.

Betty inhaled, taking in the clean spring air and the scent of wild crocus, river water and Veronica Lodge. "Yeah. Best ever, if you ask me."

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first F/F romance I have ever written in my life. How did I do? I know it wasn't nearly as explicit as anything else I've ever written, but I really didn't want to make it as exploitative. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
